“Infamy! Infamy!” A poor workman shouted today at any rag desperate enough for a sales boost to print his dissembling and lies, “they’ve all got it in for me!”
He was talking as his pet political project, Brexshit, showed distinct signs of being on the turn, like him allegedly seeing a bag of roubles, and on the nose, like any project of political Frankensteinism that the creators didn’t bother to sufficiently plan or power up.
It’s now starting to rot on the slab.
”If only the politicians that I abandoned my project to when it was half finished were making a better fist of it all would be perfect by now. We’d already be Singapore-on-Sea!”
Rot on the slab, stench of corruption wafting out the windows.
Presumably being perfect also means the hard right coup being so complete there’s no chance of meddling public inquiries and potential charges for things a little bit like treason?
“We can still have those!” he huffed, lurching upwards, “we are supposed to have those. Show trials for remainiac saboteurs! Cowed populace! Toilling the fields for the fatherland. Left or right wing Brexit it works either way.”
So it’s still possible for your project to succeed? Maybe you need different tools?
”That’s the Daily Mail’s plan. Painting up Jezza as being the hero of the hour. A right and proper fool. I mean, tool!”
As the corrupted juices of the monster stitched together from pieces of this Brexshit lie and that Russian bribe, pool on the tiles.